


O Brother, Where Art Thou?

by invisibledeity



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: (technically) - Freeform, Asphyxiation, Dubious Consent, Episode Prompto Spoilers, M/M, Mind the Tags, Multi, Other, Porn With Plot, Sibling Incest, Tentacles, clone bone, magitektacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-05-01 17:12:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19182214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/invisibledeity/pseuds/invisibledeity
Summary: A trip into an old Gralean facility leaves Prompto in a rather compromising situation, one he could never have anticipated.





	O Brother, Where Art Thou?

**Author's Note:**

> I am still working on the other things. This just wouldn't leave my damn mind so I'm inflicting the clone bone on you guys now.

The troopers were not giving Prompto much trouble, at first. He passed by them without raising too much attention, heading on to the next block in the old, abandoned warehouse. All around him; canisters degraded with rust, and boxes filled with supplies. Cans of Ebony left strewn across the floor.

_Why not take some photos, for old time’s sake? Maybe I’ll even find a Kenny Crow mascot again._

No time for that, though. Somewhere around here, there should be an office, someplace he could find audit logs and invoices, anything that would be useful enough to get some idea of where the Graleans had kept the big guns. Facility One was not the one and only, after all. And in these days of darkness, they needed all the firepower they could get.

            He scoured the warehouse, alone, as ever. It suited him best these days; teams only made him feel awkward. The torchlight he used was sparing, so as not to attract attention, but still, he had to use _something_. It was surprising, considering the light, how the troopers did not attack him. He was clearly noticeable, despite his best efforts. These poor creatures, part-daemon, part-human, part-cyborg, had been discarded for years now — maybe they had degraded so much they had forgotten their original directives?

            He struck lucky behind a door that seemed less industrial than the others, nothing but a faded sign to mark its contents. Rows of flat-pack shelving and cabinets lay within, and all he had to do was slip around a Magitek Trooper that was aimlessly patrolling the corridor.

            ‘You don’t even register me at all, do you?’

            He had spoken too soon, or gotten too bold. The trooper carried on for precious few metres, but then doubled back to paused at the entrance. A creak of that rusting helmet as it turned its masked face to him. It was taking him into consideration — he could hear a faint whirring going on somewhere beneath the armour. Would it attack?

            Prompto paused, hands wrapped around a thick binder. He could have shot the trooper, that would have been easy. Drop the files, grab his gun, take the opening. But he didn’t want to.

            ‘Hey,’ he said. ‘Uh, don’t mind me.’

            The trooper cocked its head. Then it took a rickety step into the room.

            _I don’t think you understand me, buddy._

He could still get out of this with the help of his gun, but he wanted that to be a last resort only. So instead, he pushed up his sleeve, and bared his tattooed wrist.

            This made the trooper stop. Something approaching a pained cry escaped its throat.

            ‘Familiar, huh?’ Prompto started to laugh, but the creature’s cry became stronger, and he changed tack. ‘Okay, okay, don’t worry. I’m not here to hurt you.’ He lowered his arms, and began to tug his sleeve back down.

            In a flash the trooper was on him. Armoured plates scraped against each other, crushing his arm, a shoulder piece digging into his collarbone. He shrieked, pushing back, but the trooper was incredibly strong and there was not an inch of give. The nose of its steel mask bumped his skin softly — it was peering closely at his tattoo, and a hissing that could have been breath, or could have been an attempt at speech, issued from beneath the mask.

            Prompto controlled his breath, and let it examine his tattoo for a while longer. It just needed time, that was all, time to see he wasn’t a threat, and while he did not like how he could see the small flecks of miasma spilling from the cracks in the armour — _starscourge, don’t breathe it in too much —_ he could not force the trooper away just yet.

            But too long was long enough.

            ‘Could you, uh… get off me, now?’

            A clicking sound from somewhere beneath the armour, barely masking a guttural growl. It did not move.

            The delicacy of his situation hit him with every rise and fall of his own chest. Silence held in the air but for the clinking of metal.

            Prompto breathed in, and tried again.

            ‘Come on, I gotta go now.’ He shifted. Tested his limits beneath the trooper’s grip. It reacted by gripping harder, and another screech issued from somewhere beneath its helmet. He couldn’t say _from its mouth_ , because, especially up so close, it sounded like what lay beneath was so much more distorted than that. A normal human shape wouldn’t afford space for that kind of resonance.

            The screech possessed another echo, one that bounced down the corridor beyond the little chamber, and soon Prompto realised that this was no echo, but an announcement that they were not alone.

            ‘You got a buddy there?’

            Not just one, but two more troopers joined the first, clustering in to the source of the commotion. Again, these two did not seem antagonistic, merely curious, pawing and fussing at him. The first trooper screeched again, shaking his wrist until the others noticed. And then — there was metal everywhere. All of them were … embracing him? It was so bizarre he almost started laughing.

            _I’ve got quite the gathering here, huh?_

            The embrace was tight, and after some short seconds he realised he was growing even shorter on breath. Prompto could pride himself on his nerves, ever since surviving the Keep, but this was pushing his limits.

‘Sorry to break up the party but, I really have to go now.’

            He tried to reach, subtly, for an opening, a way out of the strange brotherly group-hug he found himself in. They blocked him almost immediately.

            _Aw geez, really?_

            Maybe it was a mistake to have come here alone. Maybe it had been more of a mistake to show them the tattoo, that he was _one_ of them. Or would have been, in another life.

            ‘Guys, I don’t wanna have to do this…’

            The pressure increased — and now he feared he would come out of this bruised, or worse.

            ‘C’mon!’

            Time to summon all his strength, because by now he had no choice. He managed to wrench one hand free of the vice grip and pull his gun from its holster. The shot rang out tinny and sharp, and when he next looked, he saw it had blown the armour clean off the first trooper’s left side.

            In the wake of the tear, black material spilled out of the gap. It was shocking, how little solid form remained beneath the armour. It was all a mass of writhing, glittering darkness and, had it not been for the situation, it would have been quite beautiful. Prompto could have stared for longer, because it reminded him of the amalgam he had seen Verstael create once upon a time, in Facility One, liquefying his cloned brethren for direct sublimation into his infernal devices. He knew Immortalis had been made of the stuff, but he had never even considered that the Magitek Troopers were also made of this combined, liquefied material. Somehow he had always imagined they would look like him — a single, fully-formed human, under the armour. But this… How many dozens of souls formed a single trooper? The thought left him stricken sick.

            No time to dwell on it. The other troopers reeled backward from the force of the shot, and Prompto could feel it too, aching in his shoulder. Point-blank was never fun for any party involved. But here lay his opening, so he took a dive for freedom.

            The shadowy miasma reacted instantly to his movement. It gathered into itself, bunching up tight, then spilling forward like magnetised iron shards towards him.

            Prompto fired off some more rounds, without caring to see exactly where they landed, and scrambled for the door.

            He never made it that far.

            Something — _many_ things — fleshy and solid pulled him back. He gasped, tripped on compromised ankles, and fell flat on his face.

            ‘Mmf — ow!’ He got to his knees, and tried to reach for his gun, but something pulled it away. The screeching was loud, drilling into his head like a jackhammer, but by the time it reached a peak, by the time he had scrunched his eyes up tight and was reaching the edge of his tolerance, it stopped, slipping into noises that were softer, pliant, almost _keening_.

            One of the strange appendages curled around his wrist and he got the chance to look, to really focus.

            ‘Whoa…’ He was barely aware of the fact he was speaking. Around him, all he could see were black tendrils taking form out of the shadowy murk. So this dark cloud of miasma could shift and coalesce at will.

            They looked like… well. Things he had seen in late-night browsing sessions. They looked like _tentacles_.

            His cheeks were burning.

            _What the hell should I call them, then? Magitek tentacles… Magitektacles? Gods, I don’t know…_

            While he was having his uncomfortable revelation, the tentacles shifted focus to the gun holster buckled around his hip. Fingers of miasma seeping in around the buckle, lifting and exploring, experimenting with the leather, trying to figure out what it was and how it was attached to him.

            ‘Oh, that’s— _ah?’_ One of the tentacles had slithered down, threading itself between his legs and _pulsing_ around his groin. The sensation was immediate, and the result embarrassing.

            ‘Fuck!’

            Did it even know what it was doing?

            He doubted it understood fully. But maybe there was a sliver of realisation there. Magitek troopers were test tube babies — like him — only they had never really gotten out of the test tube. They had never been taught about things he had, like biology, like sex education. Most of them were probably around his own age, so it made sense they’d still _have_ those urges.

            They just wouldn’t know what to do with them.

            Another tentacle joined the first, and now the others had figured out the trick behind the holster, unbuckling it and pulling it free from his body. The same soon happened to his belt.

            ‘Guys, c’mon, stop!’ Not so much because he didn’t like it, but it was just so not what he had expected would happen. It wasn’t like they were hurting him… it was just too _weird._

            He tried to move his wrist. The tentacle wrapped around it increased its grip, and somewhere inside his wrist he heard a crack — nothing broken, nothing maimed, but it was an unsettling reminder of where the power lay between them.

            A hissing noise sounded in tandem. It felt like a command, and if it had been words, it might have been ‘Stay.’

            Prompto gulped.

            And then the reality hit him. He was in an abandoned factory. Nobody else was here. Nobody would be intervening. Even if the cell towers had still worked, even if he had been within range, calling wouldn’t have done much good: everyone who had the capacity to help him, few as they were in number, was back at Magna Fortia, manning a ship docked at the harbour, ready to ferry him back to Lucis when he had completed his solo mission.

            ‘Please…’ He stopped struggling so hard, tugging only lightly to make his point. ‘You gotta let me go — my friends are waiting for me! Please, you gotta understand it’s important! Okay?’

            The writhing mass reacted, not to his words, but to the fact he was talking so much. One tentacle slightly thicker than all the rest slithered up before him, curious, excited, gauging the open space his mouth was presenting to it. Then it dove in.

            Prompto didn’t have time to breathe in. He choked on its entry, then choked again when it hit the back of his throat, straining fruitlessly as if he could escape. Thankfully — and probably only because his gag reflex was constricting it too tightly — the tentacle receded from his throat, and was content to only fill up his mouth. Things that weren’t words gurgled up from his voice box, and the mass around him chittered and rumbled in response.

            Following the first intrusion came small, fibrelike tentacles, more like wires or cords, running up his neck, his cheek, until they poked around the other crevices they found. Tickling at his ears, then, even more uncomfortably, his nostrils. Here, they seemed excited, and they began to creep their way in.

            ‘No, no, no, not there!’ he tried to say, but his mouth was already fully occupied. They crept in and it felt slimy and impossible and strange, and his larynx turned into a vacuum that railed at the intruders without success.

            He was losing breath. He’d fucking die here and it’d be for such a pathetic, accidental reason, too. The poor underdeveloped but insanely strong Magitek Troopers, breaking their brother like a child would a new toy, too excited to realise what it was doing.

            _He was going to fucking die at their hands._

            ‘Mmmph! Nnnnooo-ngh!’ His last attempt at a cry for help was plugged ferociously by the tentacle in his mouth forcing its way deeper, bringing up his gag reflex again as it slithered down his throat. This time its curiosity was greater than whatever discomfort it may have felt by his throat constricting it — or maybe it simply decided it liked the sensation. His mouth and nostrils filled with dozens more smaller tentacles, streaking his face with miasma as they wound their way in, blocking his airways and filling every gap fit to bursting. Pressure in his sinuses, pulling at his cheeks. His eyes, straining upward. He struggled for breath, came up empty, and began to buck.

            Everything swam before him, pain pricking his lungs, and just before he succumbed to unconsciousness, the pressure relented. He heaved in air, and would have collapsed to his knees had the appendages not held him up so securely.

            _Fuck, that was too close…_

            But, once he had recovered, he noticed there was something a little different in the tentacles’ touch. A small one caressed his cheek and a low, curious noise geared up in the air around him. It sounded like…

            It sounded like they were checking in on him. As if they realised they had done something wrong.

            He coughed in response. Then cleared his throat, one final time, and said ‘Thank — ah! — thank you.’ It was hard to speak clearly, with the slippery thicknesses still pulsing around his groin.

            Convinced the situation was okay, more tentacles returned from the mass to slither across his face, and for one cold second he worried they would start again. Yeah, there it was — a teasing at the edge of his mouth, but this time, it went no further. Combined with the pulsing, it was clear they were seeking some kind of pleasure and gods, it was making him _react._

            He was… This was really happening…

            He closed his eyes, he set his jaw, and the most submissive, plaintive noise escaped from between gritted teeth. If he hadn’t been _so fucking turned on_ it would have been embarrassing.

            He gave himself up to it even as he resisted — the push of his wrists and the kick of his legs growing more feeble by the second as futility really set in.

            That submissiveness — he always came back to it in the end, didn’t he? Whether trying to please Noctis on their travels (he was his best friend, of course he had to make him happy), or obeying Gladio and Ignis’s every word (they knew what was going on best, it only made sense to do as they said), or satisfying a partner in bed (the World of Ruin was tough on them all, and he had to do what he could to brighten their day), it was so easy for him to slip into the role. Much as he liked to see himself as otherwise.

            It was what he was best at.

            So, hesitantly, he opened his mouth, and _licked_ at the tip of one of the tentacles. It responded with a shiver, turning up to face him. He — and in some small part of his mind, he couldn’t believe he was really doing this — hummed his approval.

            ‘Just — not the nostrils, okay?’

            Prompto had no idea if they would understand those words, but body language had already done the rest, and they did not seem keen on killing him. He closed his eyes. The teasing returned at his mouth and he let it slide in. He worked his tongue around it this time, trying to ignore the odd gelatinous sensation, trying not to think about how much that reminded him of the flan daemons he had once fought with Noctis, and it was only when the tentacles further down began frotting at his groin again that he realised he had gotten even harder. If that was even possible. His cock felt so swollen beneath his clothes, and it was nothing but a relief when the tentacles finally worked themselves all the way beneath those layers and tugged down, exposing his erection fully.

            A shudder coursed through him as the tentacles began to pull on his cock, leaving slick wetness in their wake. Something dark and delicious coiled upward from his belly, filling his veins with promises, and he bucked into their touch.

            They were not interested in removing his clothes fully. Satisfied that they had removed enough to explore the parts of his body that intrigued them, they left his pants bundled around his knees and continued their attentions. Wetness seeped off them to coat his ass, lubricating the puckered ring of his asshole. The teasing, the delicious manipulation of flesh had his pulse racing, his skin alight with anticipation, barely able to stand it.

            Then, he felt something solid bracing against his asshole, pushing gingerly, seeking entry. A strain, a pressure, a solidity that held form only until his tight ring of muscle gave way. Then the squirming, thick mass was inside him. Nerves shocking into life, starting a tingling that ran up to the base of his skull. He moaned, and the amalgam imitated him in a hissing, crude fashion.

            _Fuck… this shouldn’t feel so fucking good…_

            The tentacle penetrating his ass tightened and writhed in alternating waves, until it figured out which movements gave it the most pleasurable sensations. Then, it began to pick up its own rhythm, shocking him into shallow gasps with each hit, gasps that were cut off all too fast by the tentacle plugging his mouth.

            Then, a strained cry as his body was forced down. Braced against the ground now, cock separated from the floor by the sheer thickness of the tentacles amassing over it. Those holding his limbs pushed his face to the floor, writhing, shivering, as they pulled his ass higher into the air. A better angle. Deeper.

            He wriggled and squirmed in the creatures’ hold, but it didn’t do a thing. Only the tentacle in his mouth shifted position — presumably it didn’t like being squashed against the floor — twisting around so his cheek was pressed into the ground, so it could remain sandwiched firmly in his mouth.

            In front of him, discarded amid the dust and the grime, was the mask of one of the troopers, shot off in his initial bid to escape. He was face to face with the expressionless thing, painted in such a mocking simulacrum of a human face, and with every thrust he received, he was reminded of what lay at the core of all of this. _My origins. The fate I avoided._

_Now I’m back full circle and it’s taking me and I can’t do a thing about it…_

And he didn’t entirely dislike it. Gods, perhaps the hottest thing about it was the fact that it was so unskilled, so undeliberate. This creature, this _amalgam_ of creatures, paid no fine attention to his tender spots and his soft, breakable skin. They did not want to kill him, but still, they were driven by such base intelligence, they seemed utterly overcome by their own needs. It was brutal, simply forcing a way in where it could, exploring and grabbing and squeezing and possessing in a mad bid to _understand_ the other.

            He could almost kid himself that he could feel their thoughts. Their sense of emotion was basic, but so strong. Feel, explore _, connect._

            They drove in deeper.

            His trousers were tearing, his muscles tensing, and then the tentacle was ejaculating into his mouth, some hot and sticky fluid spilling into every crevice it found from teeth to throat. The taste, more metallic than he had expected. He choked and swallowed, trying to purge the excess from his mouth, and the tentacle retracted, falling limp.

            But that was just one.

            The others carried on. And, being touched, lapped at, everywhere and all at once… it was relentless. It was tipping him over the edge.

            When he came he was utterly helpless. Pinned to the ground and at their mercy — _at their mercy, and they can do anything to you —_ and that only made his orgasm all the more intense. Prompto cried out, saw stars explode, and felt horribly, helplessly overloaded by gravity.

 

Immediately in the aftermath, he dropped. He had imagined he would feel angry at them, but what he felt was more like melancholy.

_Verstael… Dad… how could you create so many souls and just… punish them like this? They never even had the chance at a life…_

            He could almost have sobbed, and strange, how glad he was that his partner was not another ordinary human, a fully-intelligent being that might have laughed.

            Then he thought about that latter fact more seriously, and he wondered _how many beings did I just fuck here?_ Worse, still, that they all shared the same DNA. _Fuck, there’s a word for that…_ A tightening at his groin as his cock shrunk in shame.

_Oh man — I don’t think even the Astrals would forgive me at this point._

As Prompto regained his sense of self, he grew aware that his ass was still plugged. The appendage occupying it pulsed, then resumed its movements.

_No, I’m spent!_

But they were not. They kept pounding, driving into him, frotting against him, until each tip swelled and burst its load, in him and on him and on the abandoned warehouse floor all around him.

            And then everything grew slack, leaving only the throbs in the blissful aftermath.

            He was red and raw and utterly overcome.

            So were they, their energy fizzled out into nothing. Like a strange form of aftercare, smaller tentacles lapped at his cock, little waves on an inundated shore. He shivered and squirmed, held fast in their embrace, riding his own aftershocks even now. And then he gave up moving, succumbing to his own exhaustion, letting his body sag upon the sticky floor. The tentacles atop him had loosened their muscular grip, but they showed no desire to move, holding him down now with their sheer mass.

 

Hours must have passed. In the wake of the act, he let his mind drift. He was dimly aware of more tentacles, slithering over him, lazily enjoying something between slumber and huddling. A blanket of darkness, to give him dreams sweet and sour.

            He felt guilty about releasing them from the armour in the first place. He remembered what happened to that miasma the instant it hit sunlight; were these creatures now fated to wander around without solid form until the dawn returned to dissipate them into dust like freaking vampires?

            He couldn’t save them.

            Maybe it was a good thing he had given them at least some pleasure in their lives, then.

            _Oh gods, that’s so fucked up…_

 

After that, Prompto wasn’t sure if he slept or not. He saw a lot of things that seemed like shades from a dream; two fully-suited-up Magitek Troopers attempting poorly to make out with each other, an ocean of tiny, fibrous things that looked like gossamer worms, a thick and pulsing tentacle that became the tube on a Magitek Colossus. A puddle of oil that glinted rainbow-black, draining away to reveal not floor but human skin. A red light that turned on and off from a generator and told them all to _obey,_ and that one he _felt_ , deep in his bones. In a cosmic instant, he felt as much subsumed by them as they had been by each other. _Returning to your origins like a speck of water in an ocean._ Somehow, warmly, that made sense.

 

This time, when he awoke, he was alone. Nothing shackled his limbs, nothing held him down. In the room, it was just the hazy dust swirling, and his shattered, weary body at the centre.

            Prompto did not get up immediately. He needed time to process, he needed to find the motivation to move his aching limbs. And it took longer than he would have liked, but he had lost the will to care. Crew weren’t going to leave the Magna Fortia docks until he was back anyways, be it days or weeks from now.

            It was cold in the room. A dry air clung to his bare skin, evaporating droplets away and leaving a chill in their wake. Somehow, he felt hot and cold and dry and clammy all at once.

            He pulled his pants back up to his waist and cinched his belt back together, trying to ignore the cloying feeling of wet-on-wet. Gods above, he needed to get clean. He was saturated in the stink of sex and sweat. Small flecks of miasma still drifted in the air, but the amalgamated mass was nowhere to be seen. He tried not to breathe in the black too much. Enough of the stuff had entered him already, and — oh, _fuck_ , it really had happened.

            It would be a lie to say he wasn’t shaken by it. He rose to his feet, eyes darting round the room all the while, legs trembling with weakness. He had no doubt that strength would return in time, but right now, his energy reserves were as empty as people claimed the Magitek Troopers were.

            He needed to get back to civilisation, find some way of purging the scourge from his system. So much had gotten in, and a low-grade panic was starting to settle in his bones. He wouldn’t turn as quickly as Verstael had, would he? No, he had to have built up some resistance over the years of daemon hunting in the Darkness.

            As an interim solution, he cracked open an elixir, one that had been hidden in the soft pocket-latches on his gun holster. After being thrown to the side by the disinterested mass, it had survived the onslaught. And there, the familiar peppermint tingle of the healing potion working its magic. It would be enough for a few more days.

            But there was something else nagging at his mind. Somewhere in the room behind him… what was… Oh, crap, he needed those documents. The whole point of the mission — how could he have pushed that to the back of his mind so easily?

            He turned, searching for the dropped binders. Strewn on the floor, scuffed away to the corners of the room, were the remains of Magitek armour, some plates riddled with bullets, others torn off and broken. The guilt throbbed in his belly. _Where are they now?_

Roaming the corridors, no doubt, continuing their eternal patrolling and never remembering the reason why. Had he condemned them or freed them by releasing them from their metal shells?

            _Gods._

He chewed at his lip, aware of a salty aftertaste there, and then he noticed the folders, dropped by the shelving unit at the back, ruffled and slightly splotched with black, but otherwise unharmed. The contents were still legible, so the information was still good. Shame he couldn’t find a data drive of some kind, but it didn’t matter. In this situation, paper was probably better. Couldn’t run into technical issues this way.

            And so, he collected his hard-earned prize, and made to go. Only, he slowed to a pause by the door. Scanned the room one final time. The mess, the dust, the armour. Closest to the door, that half-shattered mask that he had last taken note of in close-up, inches from his nose as he was pressed into the floor. It looked so despondent, so lost, alone on the ground like that.

            He almost wanted to pick the mask up and take it with him.

            Clutching his revolver to his chest like it would protect him this time, Prompto staggered out of the warehouse. Behind him, in the dust and darkened shadows, a shapeless creature tried to form the words to speak his name, and failed.


End file.
